A fresh new day, and a fresh set of web searches brings up useful information on the Jabron Cryptogram that so intrigued Alfred Weysel for his (1972) book “L’Île des Veilleurs”. Firstly, as to where it is, this 2011 post by Philippe Mathé helps us improve on “somewhere in the gorges by Jabron”:-

Au lieu-dit “le pont de l’Evescat”, entre Jabron et Le Bourguet, une inscription est gravée sur la falaise bordant l’ancienne piste templière.

Luckily, Google Maps happens to know about Le Pont de l’Evescat, so we can see that it sits between Jabron and the bridge that carries the D252 from Le Bourguet over Le Jabron river. Any Cipher Mysteries reader holidaying in Provence now knows where to point their hire car’s GPS towards. 🙂

Another thing that needed improvement was the quality of the scans: thankfully, the thunting treasure-hunting site has a couple of nice clear photos, though I’m not wholly convinced that their attempt to trace the letters worked out too well. There are lots of lines there, sure: but which are carved and which are natural? 🙁

So… just to prove it’s not easy, here’s my own attempt at tracing them:-

jabron-lines

Personally, unless someone sensible can get there and take some properly high-res images of these, as well as others with (e.g.) raking lights shone across them, I don’t think we’ll be able to reliably tell what are merely old cracks and what are really old letters. There’s also a shape below these letters in the thunting tracing which doesn’t appear in the letters, making this all very odd and unsatisfactory (but that’s how it nearly always goes with these things, right?)

Incidentally, the same two websites (which look to have largely come from the same source) also mention some odd cryptograms allegedly found in 1942 in the wall of the chapel at Valcros nearby, and claim that there’s a large body of people investigating these mysteries. I’d be a bit surprised if that’s true, but will go and have a look for these now, and post what I find in a few weary days’ time. 🙂

Voynich theories are like radish shoots after Spring rain (as Rudy Cambier likes to say) – they keep on popping up. And here’s a new radish shoot theory, courtesy of Morten St George, whose Andean Sky God website digs deep into a whole range of historical mysteries – Nazca lines, Shakespeare, Cabala, Rosicrucianism, and now the Voynich Manuscript.

According to St George, the 9-rosette castle is likely to be a fortress similar to Carcassone, but one “destroyed by the Crusaders, i.e. left without ruins“… “Montségur, the final stronghold of the Cathari Church“. So it’s clearly a Cathar document.

Of course, the 15th century radiocarbon dating presents a problem for any Cathar Voynich theory: indeed, St George acknowledges that “it would seem impossible for the Cathars to have written the Voynich because at that time the Cathars no longer existed, at least not anywhere in Europe.”

So… if the Cathars wrote the Voynich Manuscript in the 15th century but they weren’t in Europe, where were they? St George’s response is unexpected yet logical:-

“The plant drawings in the Voynich provide the answer. The Voynich has drawings of more than one hundred exotic plant species, highly detailed drawings from flower to root, all of which represent plants that no one in Europe had ever seen before. Realistically, there is only one place on Earth that can produce such an extraordinary diversity of plant life, and that’s the tropical rainforests of South America, which I shall call Amazonia. The Cathars went to Amazonia.”

In fact, the Voynich Manuscript’s Quire 13 (the ‘balneological section’) has a whole load of drawings of the “elaborate network of conduits, funnels, and containers up in the trees to collect rain water, which they then used for drinking and washing. In the Voynich, drinkable rain water, in contrast to rainforest water, is always depicted in blue color“. Ah, so that is why they’re coloured differently! 😉

However, there is no happy ending for the Cathars in exile: even hundreds of years later, St George is convinced that the Inquisition would hunt down and kill the Cathars in South America. “In such circumstances, the Church of Satan would continue to hunt down the Cathars until the end of time.

In a worthy piece of soul-searching, St George finishes up his presentation with the following Q&A couplet:-

“Do you think this sounds like the plot of an end-of-times film?

Things are what they are.”

Well…

In the spirit of Rich SantaColoma’s desire to keep all possibilities in play, I freely admit say that there is a small chance that Morten St George has stumbled onto something huge here – that the Voynich Manuscript was indeed written by Cathars in exile in South America, before their being finally (if belatedly) obliterated from the pages of history by the Inquisition. (It also doesn’t take much to connect St George’s ideas with Leo Levitov’s (now venerable) Cathar heresy Voynich theory.)

Of course, the real study of history is about far more than enumerating possibilities, because in the hands of the imaginative (let alone of those really don’t get out enough), there is no list of possibilities that cannot be doubled or tripled in length. Indeed, such possibilities tells us far more about the showboating creative facility of the person or people constructing them than about the real historical artefact itself: the role of the object ultimately reduces to that of a stage on which to play out stories culled from the pareidoiliac static of a troubled mind.

And in my opinion, the biggest sign of such trouble is normally when would-be decrypters discover – almost always to their personal surprise and amazement – that their deciphering methodology developed for one particular object also just happens to work on other, apparently unrelated objects. For example, John Stojko not only could read the Voynich (in Old Ukrainian), but was also (as I recall) able to read Estrucan gravestones. It’s tempting to speculate whether he could in fact have used the same approach to “read” any string of letters. “John Stojko Read My Barcode” isn’t yet a T-Shirt slogan, but perhaps it should be.

If all the world’s a stage, then the evil Church conspiracy, the Rosicrucians, Shakespeare, and the Voynich Manuscript are surely the festival side-stages on which the troubled perform their one-man (or indeed one-woman) shows. Curiously for things of such age, history only has a walk-on part in such productions. The play’s the thing, indeed!

There’s a nice-looking 2010 documentary on the pirate/corsair Olivier Levasseur (“La Buse”) being screened on French TV that I unfortunately might just have missed. It’s an episode of the series “Patrimoine et énigmes du monde marin” on TV5, filmed by Hervé Jouon, with a 52-minute running time.

There also seems to be a 13-minute version of it on YouTube (also a 2010 film by Hervé Jouon for Grand Angle Productions). But this seems to be a heavily cut-down edit of the whole show, perhaps for a different series or documentary strand entirely.

historian-action-shot

Can any of my French readers tell me if I can pay to see the full-length TV5 episode streamed online anywhere?

Even so, the YouTube version covers the cryptogram side of the story fairly well, and even manages to include action shots in an Réunion archive of a French historian reading Levasseur’s execution instructions. (Which worked for me, but perhaps I’m a bit too easily pleased by that kind of stuff).

All the same… if you like an occasional bit of French language but all the above sounds just a tad too heavyweight for you, then I possibly have the perfect answer: a 5-minute Flash-style animated retelling of La Buse’s story, courtesy of Cap Canal!

cap-canal-la-buse

Unfortunately, while the production team managed to hire good artists and decent voice talent, I found the history side of the episode rather lacking in accuracy. All the same, it’s a bit of real-life-pirate-themed fun for kids, and maybe that’s the whole point. [But you can’t really blame me too much for wanting people to get the basic history right, right? 🙂 ]

Unless you just happen to have been an expert in Voynichese for a decade or more, making sense of all the evidence and the theories (and even the people) surrounding it can be quite daunting. So I thought I’d help by drawing a map!

theory-evidence-map

From my perspective, the general problem is that once you really latch onto a piece of evidence or a particular angle, you can easily become trapped inside it: and even though the solution you then reach may be entirely logical, it is almost always inconsistent with the other kinds of evidence and types of angle, and hence is almost always nonsensical.

I’d say this is precisely what happened with Gordon Rugg’s hoax theory, Jorge Stolfi’s East Asian language theory, and William Friedman’s artificial language theory – they all relied too heavily on one particular kind of evidence, and so arrived at untenable conclusions. But you will doubtless have your own thoughts on each of these. 🙂

It should also be clear that, like a kind of hummingbird theoretician, I’ve dotted around this diagram over the years, adding different ideas to the mix that try to explain different aspects of the evidence. I still believe that each of these suggestions will turn out to be largely correct, but the big trick will be finding a way – Intellectual History style – of making them all right at the same time!

Here’s something I stumbled upon recently: a Victorian code world of gloves, handkerchiefs, hats, eyes, parasols and even stamps. Basically, the 1890s saw a craze for flirtation codes, using everyday objects close at hand to signal your romantic intentions and responses. I particularly like the specificity of “I will be at the gate at 8 p.m.”, but I guess that’s just me. 🙂

There were numerous variations of these: usefully, an 1891 edition of the Taranaki Herald (New Plymouth New Zealand) lists several such codes, which I have transcribed below:-

GLOVE FLIRTATION.

Holding with tips downward - I wish to be acquainted.
Twirling around the fingers - Be careful! We are watched.
Right hand with the naked thumb exposed - Kiss me.
Left hand with the naked thumb exposed - Do you love me?
Using them as fan - Introduce me to your company.
Smoothing them out gently - I wish I were with you.
Holding them loose in the left hand - Be contented.
Biting the tips - I wish to be rid of you very soon.
Folding up carefully - Get rid of your company.
Striking them over the hand - I am displeased.
Drawing half way on left hand - Indifference.
Clenching them (rolled up) in right hand - No.
Striking over the shoulder - Follow me.
Ends of tips to lips - Do you love me?
Tossing them up gently - I am engaged.
Turning them inside out - I hate you.
Dropping both of them - I love you.
Tapping the chin - I love another.
Putting them away - I'm vexed.
Dropping one of them - Yes.

HANDKERCHIEF FLIRTATION.

Drawing across the lips - Desirous of an acquaintance.
Drawing across the eyes - I am sorry.
Taking it by the centre - You are willing.
Dropping - We will be friends!
Twirling in both hands - Indifference.
Drawing across the cheek - I love you.
Drawing through the hands - I hate you.
Letting it rest on the right cheek - Yes.
Letting it rest on the left cheek - No.
Twisting in the left hand - I wish to be rid of you.
Twisting in the right hand - I love another.
Folding it - I wish to speak with you.
Over the shoulder - Follow me.
Opposite corners in both hands - Wait for me.
Drawing across the forehead - We are watched.
Placing on the right ear - You have changed.
Letting it remain on the eyes - You are cruel.
Winding around the forefinger - I am engaged.
Winding around the third finger - I am married.
Putting in the pocket - No more at present.

PARASOL FLIRTATION.

Carrying it elevated in left hand - Desiring acquaintance.
Carrying elevated in right hand - You're too willing.
Carrying closed in left hand, by side - Follow me.
Carrying in front of you - No more at present.
Carrying over shoulder - You are too cruel.
Closing it up - I wish to speak with you.
Dropping it - I love you.
Folding it up - Get rid of your company.
Letting it rest on the left cheek - No.
Letting it rest on the right cheek - Yes.
Striking on hand - I am much displeased.
Swinging it to and fro by the handle on the right side - I am married.
Swinging same on left side - I am engaged.
Tapping the chin - I am in love with another.
Twirling it around - We are watched.
Using as a fan - Introduce me to your company.
With handle to lips - Kiss me.
Putting away - No more at present.

FAN FLIRTATION.

Carrying right hand in front of face - Follow me.
Carrying in left hand - Desirous of an acquaintance.
Placing it on the right ear - You have changed.
Twirling it in left hand - I wish to get rid of you.
Drawing across forehead - We are watched.
Carrying in right hand - You are too willing.
Drawing through the hand - I hate you.
Twirling in right hand - I love another.
Drawing across the cheek - I love you.
Closing it - I wish to speak to you.
Drawing across the eye - I am sorry.
Letting it rest on right cheek - Yes.
Letting it rest on left cheek - No.
Open and shut - You are cruel.
Dropping - We will be friends.
Fanning slow - I am married.
Fanning fast - I am engaged.
With handle to lips - Kiss me.
Shut - You have changed.
Open wide - Wait for me.

HAT FLIRTATION.

Carrying it in the right hand - Desirous of an acquaintance.
Carrying it in the left hand - I hate you!
Running the finger around the crown - I love you.
Running the hand around the rim - I hate you.
To wear on the right side of the head - No.
To wear on the left side of the head - Yes.
To wear on the back of the head — I wish to speak with you.
To incline towards the nose — We are watched.
Putting it behind you — I am married.
Putting it in front of you — I am single.
Carrying in the band by the crown — Follow me.
Putting it under the right arm — Wait for me.
Putting it under the left arm — I will be at the gate at 8 p.m.
Putting the hat on the head straight — All for the present.

EYE FLIRTATION.

Winking the right eye - I love you.
Winking the left eye - I hate you.
Winking both eyes - Yes.
Winking both eyes at once - We are watched.
Winking right eye twice - I am engaged.
Winking left eye twice - I am married.
Dropping the eyelids - May I kiss you?
Raising the eyebrows - Kiss me.
Closing the left eye slowly - Try and love me.
Closing the right eye slowly - You are beautiful.
Placing right forefinger to right eye - Do you love me?
Placing right forefinger to left eye - You are handsome.
Placing right little finger to the right eye - Aren't you ashamed?

All of which is a lot like all the foolishly faked-up floriography that Victorians loved so much: but why say it with flowers when you can say it with a fan?

Anyway, I have to say that these promenading picayunes pale into paltriness compared with something else I found in the same web-trawling session: the (frankly astonishing) secret world of stamp codes.

stamp-code

You’ve already guessed when these flourished (same as above), what they said (same as above) and how they worked (same as above): all I can add is that here’s a link to a truly epic webpage devoted to a whole variety of stamp codes, highly recommended. Fabulous stuff… enjoy! 🙂

A nice-looking cipher mystery just arrived, courtesy of mystery man/woman “Vir”: his/her Vick Industries website has a 14-page art-house cipher that will no doubt intrigue a whole load of people. To my eye, it’s a sort of cross between the Codex Seraphinianus’ fussily over-evolved script and the desktop publishing zing of “Isaac”‘s CARET labs cipher.

Structurally, the text is written in columns of composite individual units, where most of the shapes are apparently formed of a palette of smaller shapes (thus resembling transcriptions such as Korean). Yet many composite units are repeated multiple times: I’ve only really checked the first page so far, and it looks as though half the composite shapes appear once, half appear multiple times. Here’s a version of page 1 I’ve added a little colour to, so as to make the repetitions a little more visible:-

vick-industries-page-1-coloured-small

This is, I guess, meant to resemble a formal design language, where the overriding design conceit seems to be to transform each word of the plaintext into a composite unit. Which may or may not actually be true, of course, but that’s what it resembles. As such, it seems that if you can transcribe it sensibly, you stand a pretty good chance of reading it. Maybe that’s the joke, who knows?

It’s not really my kind of thing (I’m more of an historian than a tinkery design crypto guy), but if it’s yours, go for it. Perhaps the mysterious “Vir” will emerge from the Vick Industries shadows before very long… we shall see!

Two long(-ish) form Voynich manuscript articles emerged recently, one in the Jewish magazine The Tablet “Tablet Magazine”, the other in the New Yorker’s online blog section. These tell us quite a lot – though not really about the Voynich Manuscript itself, but rather about how the Voynich Manuscript is now perceived.

The first article, by Batya Ungar-Sargon, is called Cracking the Voynich Code: The quixotic quest to read meaning in the patterns of a bizarre manuscript that has bedeviled scholars for years.

Her basic take is that “the Voynich Manuscript has become a beacon for a secular community of quasi-Talmudic scholars whose interpretive ingenuity and stamina have few parallels“, so her piece is built around interviews with several of them (including the “patient, tireless” Gordon Rugg, and the “deeply humble” Rich SantaColoma). [She also talked with me on the phone for an hour, but perhaps I didn’t fit her template 😉 ].

Taken as a whole, fitting her article into a primarily Jewish-interest magazine was always going to be a bit of stretch: William Friedman was Jewish, sure, but that’s a small piece of material to make a full-length dress out of. I can’t help but wonder whether Batya’s ambition is to write long-form pieces for the New Yorker, and that this was a try-out for her portfolio. She clearly writes well, but I don’t think her journalistic instincts are yet fully honed – her article, in my opinion, is still more ‘relating’ than the literary reportage to which she aspires.

The second article – The Unread: The Mystery of the Voynich Manuscript – by Reed Johnson is, coincidentally enough, from the New Yorker blog section. As such, it’s a kind of New Yorker long-form take on a blog post, i.e. longer than a normal blog post, but quite a lot shorter than a typical New Yorker article (I used to subscribe to it, though how I ever found enough time to read each issue I don’t know 🙂 ).

This isn’t Ungar-Sargon-style journalism, but is instead Reed’s telling the story of how he came to waste three years (only three years? Pshaw!) on the Voynich Manuscript – basically, while trying to write his own “Dan Brown–style thriller”, having nearly completed his “M.F.A. in fiction at the University of Virginia” in 2010. He tries to introduce a little light drama into his account (Did he crack the Voynich? Did he finish his book?) but with enough of a wink to astute readers that they know the resolutions long before the end.

Unlike Batya, Reed is not an observer looking in on the Voynich research world from the outside, but is instead an active participant in what he calls the “often fractious” Voynich mailing list. His feeling about this is that “If crowds have any wisdom, soon we should see the fruits of a more recent deciphering project: Internet crowdsourcing“. And yet, he also wonders whether it would be a disappointment for the Voynich Manuscript to be decrypted – that, “no matter how thrilling such a text might be, it [would] remain a disappointment for being closed off, completed — for being, in the end, no longer a mystery“.

My own conclusion is that the Voynich mailing list has become more part of the problem than part of the solution: and that the extraordinarily productive collaboration its early days saw was more down to the small number and high calibre of the participants (Jim Reeds, Jim Gillogly, Jacques Guy, etc), most of whom left the list long ago. Really, the collective wisdom of the crowd very much depends on the crowd you happen to be dealing with: though Reed stops short of showing his hand in this regard, so we end up knowing what happened but not his thoughts or feelings about it. Perhaps the whole card game hasn’t yet concluded for him.

What’s nice about these two articles is that, for all their differences, they are both good examples of clear-headed contemporary writing about the Voynich Manuscript, far from the lurid wodges of mystery-soaked ahistorical fragments I frequently used to see. Indeed, both give an account of the Voynich’s history that is broadly correct, something which simply never happened even a decade ago: perhaps the radiocarbon dating has helped validate the Voynich as a “proper” subject.

And yet… it’s as if something (or someone) is missing from the whole party. The Voynich Manuscript has had many of the best codebreakers of the age (the Friedmans, Manly, Tiltman, etc) examine it closely: yet as these articles show, a lot of contemporary discourse still revolves around the – frankly rather foolish and shallow, I think – postmodernist cipher/hoax tension as exemplified by Gordon Rugg and Rich SantaColoma.

To my mind, it’s as if something really important is missing from the whole conceptual landscape of how the Voynich is perceived, that everyone is somehow in the wrong kind of doubt. We’ve collectively travelled a really long way forward, for sure, but the ideas and insights gained on that journey have all been zapped by a kind of “motivated learning” paralysis, where debate is held in a stasis between powerful epistemological agendas.

It often feels as though, myself excepted (and who listens to what I say, ha!), the Voynich-as-a-genuine-historical-artefact point of view has no champion. I genuinely tire of the way people continually generate possible alternative histories for it, when I’m just about the only person trying to reconstruct the mainstream history they’re so busy fighting against.

I want to ask those “theorists”: why do you find the idea that the Voynich Manuscript was made basically when its radiocarbon dating says so dreadfully upsetting? Why do you invest so much time and effort into identifying outlandish alternatives that might possibly be made to work (with a few well-chosen tweaks to the mainstream historical timeline)? Do you not see that, by kicking back so hard against a straightforward historical account that hasn’t even been written yet, you are yourself holding everything back? Can you not see that by doing this you have become part of the problem, not part of the solution?

That is the Voynich Manuscript debate that’s missing, the elephant in the room that nobody wants to talk about. But nobody is writing that particular article, and I’m not sure anyone ever will… and perhaps we’re all worse off for that silence.

A copy of Paul de Saint-Hilaire’s (1973) “La Belgique Mysterieuse” arrived in the post today. I saw it mentioned here, and ordered it because it seemed to be the only book out there (apart from Rudy Cambier’s Knights Templar / Nostradamus stuff) where Moustier Church’s strange cryptograms are discussed at all.

It’s a handy little thing, that divides its mysterious subject matter into:
(1) Megalithic Belgium
(2) Templar Belgium
(3) Lost Treasure Belgium
(4) Alchemical Belgium
(5) Fantastic(al) Belgium
(6) Underground Belgium, and – of course –
(7) Secret Belgium.

Each chapter finishes up with a suggested tour around the Belgian countryside to take in the major landmarks it discussed. So… what does our man say about Moustier, then?

* On p.60, Saint-Hilaire says that the cryptograms may relate to a treasure hidden in the 19th century. (But without giving any sources or references – annoyingly, there is no bibliography).
* On p.119, he notes that the cryptograms are laid out in the same way as you would expect to see “The Tables of the Law” (i.e. the Ten Commandments), but that it has so far proved impossible to find the key.
* On p.129, he speculates that examining some windows of the church and a small chapel in the village might prove useful in decrypting the inscriptions. (But, again, without giving any sources or references).

And that’s all Saint-Hilaire says about Moustier. It’s not much, true: but it is what it is.

* * * * * * *

Having mused on the Moustier enigma for the last few weeks, my own conclusions are:
* I don’t believe that it was carved before 1800
* I don’t believe that it uses a simple substitution cipher
* I don’t believe that it uses a transposition cipher
* I do believe that it includes copying mistakes
* I do believe that it was copied from a written version, not from a carved text
* I do believe that the written version was probably devised for the rebuilding of the Church
* I do believe that the resemblance to The Tables of the Law will prove to be no coincidence

Put all that together, and I suspect that the cipher that was used was very probably what is generally known as the Vigenère cipher (even though it was actually first invented by Bellaso, but we’ll let that pass).

The immediate question is, of course, is whether this is historically plausible for the proposed date? I’m sure it is – in fact, at that very time, it was renowned as le chiffre indéchiffrable, i.e. ‘the unbreakable cipher’.

I also have here a fascinating (if occasionally meandering) book by Ole Immanuel Franksen called “Mr Babbage’s Secret”, which reveals that Charles Babbage had quietly worked out the basic principles of how to crack Vigenère ciphertexts as early as 1846. This was later independently worked out by a Frenchman called de Viaris in 1888, who published his results in the “Génie Civil”, but without attracting much attention.

Because the Vigenère cipher was particularly popular in France, I predict that the plaintext will turn out to be in French: and moreover, I suspect that the key word will turn out to be something to do with the Ten Commandments (or perhaps Christianity in general), or perhaps even the name of something featured in a church window (as Saint-Hilaire speculated).

Anyway, that’s pretty much as good a set of constraints as my historical sleuthing has been able to generate, and I suspect there’s no more useful information out there we can get our hands on. So now it’s probably time to move to phase #2: checking the transcription and doing a bit of cryptanalysis. If it’s a Vig, can we work out what its key-length is? Hopefully we shall see! 🙂

Yes, we’re back in Ohio again, for the third post in a row. Bear with me, though, because I think you’ll quite like the ride… 🙂

western-ohio-1901-bond-header

The 28th June 1916 evening edition of the Lima Times-Democrat has a dramatic story about a Western Ohio Railway ticket agent being robbed. My guess is that this is the incident that the Ohio Cipher was to do with, although quite how (or why) is another matter entirely. This is what it said:-

BOLD ROBBER MAKES GET-A-WAY WITH W. O. CASH BOX

Follows Ticket Agent Shaw to Safe and Secures $265.

Walks Calmly Out of Office and Disappears on Elisabeth Street.

Local police so far have been unable get any trace of the bold robber who held up Harvey Shaw, ticket agent of the Western Ohio railroad, last night, and made away with the contents of the cash drawer, which contained $265. Although a good description of the thief was given [to] the police department, a careful search of the city has failed to reveal the fugitive.

So carefully was the robbery perpetrated, that not even the numerous employes and persons waiting for the last train were aware of the trouble, until Shaw ran out the front door of the station shortly after the departure of the thief and gave the alarm.

Persons who saw the man walk out of the station state that he did not seem to hurry. He went west on Market until he reached Elizabeth street and turned south. Immediately after the alarm pedestrians and persons in the waiting room assisted in searching for the thief in the rear of the Wheeler block. Police who responded to the call searched all the alleys and lots in the neighbourhood, but their efforts were unsuccessful.

According to Shaw he checked up the receipts of the day about 11:20 p.m. and placing the money in a tin box started downstairs to the basement where the safe is located. He claims that he was unaware that he was being followed until he heard footsteps behind him. On looking around he was confronted by a well-dressed stranger, who had been sitting in the waiting room.

The stranger told him not to make any out-cry and ordered that he continue on his way to the basement, using a large revolver to convince him that he meant business.

Shaw complied with the request, the thief following with the revolver pressed against the agent’s back.

When they reached the safe, Shaw was ordered to set the cash box down. The robber held his revolver in his right hand and transferred the cash to his pockets with his left hand. While performing the operation he did not take his eyes off the agent.

As the eyes of the thief were trailed along the barrel of the gun he was unable to see the denomination of the coins and paper money. When his fingers touched a coin that, from the size, appeared to be a penny, he remarked, “What kind of small change is this?” Without taking his eyes off the agent, he brought his hand up within range of his vision and seeing that it was a $5 gold piece he placed the remainder of the money in his pocket. With a curt order to Shaw to remain quiet, he backed up the stairway and walked quietly out of the door.

From the quiet and systematic manner in which the holdup was perpetrated, police are of the opinion that it was the work of a professional. However, it is clear that the stranger in some manner was informed as the locality of the safe and condition that would confront him in pulling the job. A description of the fugitive was sent to police departments of surrounding cities and towns.

Well! They don’t write ’em like that any more, do they? 😉

Update: according to a newspaper search on ancestry.com, the same robbery story was covered in the Marion Daily Star (28th June 1916), the Sandusky Star Journal (28th June 1916) and the Lancaster Daily Gazette (29th June 1916), but so far I have found coverage of the mysterious cipher follow-up only in the Lima Times-Democrat. Still, lots to check just yet…

A quick update on the Ohio Cipher for you.

Firstly, while looking for more mentions of the story in other 1916 Ohio newspapers, I stumbled across an article in the 4th July 1916 edition of the Coshocton Morning Tribune, which said:-

The Eastern Puzzlers League, organized in 1883 for the construction, solving and exploitation of enigmas, met here [Warren, OH] today for its semi-annual convention.

As I understand it, the Eastern Puzzlers League grew into the National Puzzlers League, whose magazine “Enigma” was where the cryptogram later appeared. Might the Ohio Cipher have therefore been planted in an Ohio paper by a convention attendee simply for a bit of fun? If so, the NPL version of the ciphertext would probably be the correct one, rather than the one in the Lima Times-Democrat. All the same, Ohio is a big place, and Warren is the opposite side to Lima… so all this might just be a coincidence. Or perhaps the Ohio Cipher was the talk of the convention, and so it was natural to write it up in the newsletter?

Secondly, the National Puzzlers League version of the story says “The police department of Lima, O., is greatly puzzled over a cryptic message received in connection with the robbery of a Western Ohio ticket agent.” At first, I thought that “Western Ohio” was a rather imprecise description (as somebody once said, ‘Ohio is a big place’), until I realized that this was a reference to a railway.

Launched in 1903, the Western Ohio Railway was an electric railway based in Lima, known as the “Lima Route”. It was an interurban railway that had many stops around Lima, where its fierce competitor was Ohio Electric. 1916 arguably was during its golden age: the Railway collapsed in 1932, one of the many smaller railways to fail during the Great Depression.

Hence it seems likely that if the Ohio Cipher is genuine (and that the National Puzzlers League account is also essentially correct), it was indeed linked with an incident in Lima, OH. However, I haven’t been able to find any historical archives connected with Western Ohio Railway (reformed in 1928 as “Western Ohio Railway & Power Co”) at all… maybe there aren’t any to be found. If there is something to be found, I suspect it will be in court or police records.

Finally: “WAS NVKVAFT BY AAKAT TXPXSCK UPBK TXPHN OHAY YBTX CPT MXHG WAE SXFP ZAVFZ ACK THERE FIRST TXLK WEEK WAYX ZA WITH THX” looks to me to be a bit of an unusual ciphertext, in that it seems to mix up both enciphered and unenciphered words.

What’s more, various features of the enciphered words hint at a kind of verbose or Polybius square cipher:-
* X appears eight times, always on an even position inside a word
* T appears seven times, always on an odd position inside a word

What is going on here? I really don’t believe this is any kind of simple substitution cipher, but rather something more like the WW2 “Slidex” cipher which similarly mixed enciphered and unenciphered text. Might parts of it be some kind of low-level private telegraphic code?